


every morning there are mountains to climb

by orphan_account



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: M/M, jev is a cute, now kiss assholes, sam is a dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: some nice soft chick lit fluff bout the love story even reddit knows is better than twilight





	every morning there are mountains to climb

“Sam- Sam are you-” He’s a little unsure whether he wants to speak to Jean-Eric right now actually. Normally he’s quite happy to see the Frenchman, even if he is a gigantic mopey bastard but Sam’s just had a slightly reality-altering experience and he doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for a chat. Sitting at the back of the garage, he was planning to hide for awhile until he stopped thinking about it or discovered a mind wipe.

“Yeah?” Jev looks kicked puppy enough that he can get over his own brain. Sort of - fuck, did he  _ actually  _ just see Lucas and Daniel making out against the barriers?

“Do you want a coffee, I am going to the good place?” 

His brain dimly registers that this is a nice gesture from Jean-Eric, who seems to have been making a big effort to be friendly to him lately but it takes him a few seconds of rubbing his own face to actually parse what his teammate said. Seriously, Lucas and Daniel, snogging. Like a pair of teenagers in the doorway of Woolworths next to an Oceana at 3am. What’s that about?

“Uh yeah… yeah can you get me a latte?” Making out with each other, at the track. What on earth. And  _ Daniel  _ and Lucas? He’d believe it if it was Senna and Chandhok but that must have been something staged for some weird promotional thing, there’s no way that’s happening for real. 

Jean-Eric is staring expectantly at him for some reason still and he’s fairly sure he’s missed a question. “And err, a chocolate croissant?”

Jev rolls his eyes elaborately and flicks Sam in the arm before he saunters off, muttering about  _ pain au chocolat  _ and yes thank you, Sam can speak perfectly good French actually. When he’s not poleaxed by the revelation Abt-Schaeffler are  _ sucking on each other’s tongues like thirteen year olds.  _

He’s still sitting on his sulking perch when Jev gets back and he realises he ought to move up a bit to make room for his teammate on the cabinet. It takes half a latte and vaguely remembering he shouldn’t be eating a pastry before he realises Jean-Eric is asking him if he’s ok and he possibly ought to start reacting.

Jev looks deeply concerned, which is fucking rich cus Sam spends half his time wondering if the big idiot is going to faint or something but he supposes he ought to humor him before his teammate works himself into some sort of inept, mothering frenzy. Sam stares at him for a second - Jean-Eric surely knows about this, he’s weirdly good for gossip - “So I caught Lucas and Daniel… err” he can’t think of a way to put it that doesn’t sound awful, “...kissing.”

That seems like the wrong term for the mouth-mashing, hands-everywhere scene he witnessed but he desperately doesn’t want to explain that to Jev, somehow. Not that the man’s a blushing virgin but it just seems  _ lewd.  _

Jev just hums encouragingly as though Sam should continue with whatever anecdote. Which is not quite the reaction he was expecting to the revelation Lucas fucking Di Grassi is making out with Daniel bloody Abt on turn 2.

“It was at Turn 2.” Jean-Eric nods as though that’s the interesting bit of information in this.

“They are getting more, uh, blatant? It is bothering Sebastien.” Jean-Eric reaches over and Sam tries not to irrationally panic before he realises he’s aiming for the croissant, “These are annoyingly good.”

Oh well, disturbing Seb is a perfectly sensible strategy for trying to win anything so fair enough. Actually, that makes a great deal of sense, Daniel is a showoff who doesn’t care and Lucas is a relentless strategist who’d stop at nothing so what’s a bit of pressing up against your teammate and grabbing their hips and smashing your lips together to make them make soft noises, shoved against the concrete wall? Christ.

“Oh. Fair enough.” He feels a bit stupid for getting so distracted by a tiny bit of passionately tongueing with fingers digging into each other’s race suits and an edge of desperation you wouldn’t normally associate with a rivalry mind game but then Lucas is  _ very  _ full-on.

He leans his head against Jean-Eric’s shoulder, tries to feed his teammate the rest of the pastry and gets only slightly covered in buttery grease in the ensuing struggle to get his fingers in Jev’s mouth.

\------

“You’re very cute.” Sam stares at Nick, this is weird even for Heidfeld.

“I’m what?” Maybe Nick means short but that’s not exactly a secret. People have been behaving strangely all day though, perhaps there’s some German joke he’s missed? Abt had smacked him on the shoulder and said  _ “get in there”  _ this morning but Daniel and Nick being fucking odd is about as newsworthy as the fact he’s not a basketball player.

“Not you - both of you.” Sam tries to stare at him harder, Heidfeld showing no facial cues as to what the piss he means by that. If Nick is going to be weird then he’s off to find Bruno for whatever passes for a semi-reasonable conversation around here.

He turns round slightly too fast for the crowded queue for the quali lottery stage and smacks straight into Jean-Eric’s chest, “Oh shit, sorry.”

Jev makes no move to get away, which is fair enough because Buemi is towering behind  _ him  _ and ok maybe Sam’s attempt to escape Nick is not likely to be successful in the extremely immediate future. “Hi, anyway. Group one then?”

Jean-Eric is looking surprisingly cheerful, for someone who’s just been bashed into and has fucking Sebastien breathing down his neck. Seb’s nice and all but you know, wins everything, previous Red Bull casualty, kind of French - Sam’s always assumed Jev had a bit of a complex about him. 

“Probably.” Jev puts a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder and he realises he’s slightly jiggling, a bit worked up by the whole kind of everything that’s going on, as well as genuinely excited to be racing soon. The standing around, dicking about bits are weird and not exactly nerves-inducing but a little not-sure-what-to-do-with-yourself kind of confusing, lurching between the driving and the waiting. 

He has to step out of the way of someone rushing past with a microphone, which makes the whole walking into his teammate problem even worse until they’re just smushed together in the crush, Jean-Eric having put a vaguely protective arm around him as though Sam needs shielding from people with radio packs. Bless him, he does try to be nice in a sort of odd, French way.

Oh well, they’re here now and he’s not turning round again in case Heidfeld says anything else strange, might as well hug - . Jean-Eric is surprisingly pleasant to lean on given he’s about 90% skeleton and this means no one else can speak to Sam. 

Jevan-Eric’s heart is racing slightly, Sam can hear it through where he’s pressed his ear against his teammate’s chest and he grips a bit tighter - he knew he was right about the Buemi thing, Jev’s such an insecure lunatic sometimes.

\-----

“You don't think he fancies you, do you?” Sam really wishes people would stop saying random non-sequiturs to him. 

“Who, Giedo?” They'd had a conversation about him earlier, before Sam had ended up in a complicated conversation about hotels with Jean-Eric via WhatsApp and Christina had been doing something with the mechanics. 

Christina is giving him a look like he is very, very simple or perhaps a child. “No, you idiot - Jev.”

Sam spends some time mulling this idea. During which Christina continues to explain to him the ways in which it could be a possibility, such as Sam smiles at his phone when he's texting him and he talks about Jean-Eric a lot but obviously he talks about Jean-Eric a lot for fuck's sake he spends half his racing time with the dude and also apparently they go to dinner together an abnormal amount which is ridiculous becau-

“Oh god, oh no -  _ you fancy him.”  _ Sam isn't here for this kind of accusation, they've got racing to get on with. 

Christina pats his hand, “We've all fancied a teammate, it's fine. He sounds like a lovely boy.”

Sam stares at his phone and the message he just sent saying  _ if your room’s shit you can always kip in mine  _ \- deliberately vernacular because occasionally Jean-Eric misunderstands it and it's enormously cute. It'd be  _ weird  _ if he fancied Jev, the man's a big mess he has to look after half the time. 

And beat into a pulp on track. Which he is, so clearly he doesn't fancy him, what an absolutely absurd accusation. Sam is pasting Jean-Eric and he only keeps sharing his data because he feels sorry for the guy at this point. Obviously. And the team says so. 

“But I'm beating him.” Christina looks at him quizzically like that's not what she expected him to say and he realises he may be several logical leaps away from what she last said, “I wouldn't want to hammer him in the points if I fancied him.”

She laughs, scruffs his hair and walks off, giving him a jaunty middle finger salute on her way to the catering “Uh huh,  _ the points. _ ”

\-----

Sam gives himself another moment to contemplate it, while Jean-Eric’s in the simulator. Huddled deep in Jev’s Moncler, which his teammate had handed over when it became apparent their engineers were trying to experiment with cryo-therapy on the pair of them, if they had to spend the day in this room. He still thinks it’s  _ bullshit.  _

Like he’d fancy Jean-Eric. He likes women. And occasionally Bruno but that’s just, you know, a bit of confusing childhood hero-worship and a good sense of humor. He’s not a prude about things but  _ Jev  _ for god’s sake, is a wholly different proposition. He’s like, a confusing child and he’s a bit posh and he’s just sad all the time no matter what Sam tries to cheer him up. He’s taken to hugging Jean-Eric because it seems to help and like, god knows the man has things to be genuinely upset about this year and it always seems to perk him up slightly but there’s only so much Sam can do.

Anyway, they’re nice to each other. Jev isn’t all that friendly with some of the others, tends to be a little isolated but he seems to have warmed to Sam. He even brought him a cup of (badly brewed) tea this morning, which Sam gathers is some sort of significant gesture in terms of Sad French Friendship, which seems to be mostly focussed around hot beverages and having someone to hide with when Jean-Eric is clearly not coping very well.

Sam’s been thinking more and more about being paternal over the last year or so, inevitably. Which isn’t exactly how he feels about Jev - the man’s clearly an adult, even if he’s a bit of a mess of one, so - some excited swearing from the simulator temporarily reminds him he’s meant to be paying attention to his teammate for entirely other reasons. 

“Yeralright?” He pretends he’s just looked up from his phone for, you know, absolutely no reason. Just doesn’t want Jev to think he was staring into the back of his head when Jean-Eric absolutely landed it into the wall - Sam’s teammate is self-conscious enough about premature balding without having to worry that he’s making a thing of it.

Jev makes an annoyed noise, probably at himself, “Yes, yeah, simulators are ridiculous, pff.”

“You’re ridiculous, is it  _ dejeuner  _ time?” Jean-Eric twists round to look at him and Sam’s briefly very distracted by the fact Jev has his hair in his eyes and surely that must be uncomfortable, practically feels his hand twitch with the desire to brush it back. 

“Mmm? I hope so.” Jev glances towards the window behind Sam, where something frantic appears to be taking place in the control centre. “Come on, they will be doing that for ages.”

Sam isn’t exactly sure where Jean-Eric’s trying to take him but anywhere above an air-conditioned ten degrees would be great right now so he’s quite happy to trot behind the hulking great asshole as he strides down the corridor. They end up outside the fire exit, where it is definitely much warmer in the sun and Sam suddenly realises he’s still wearing Jev’s coat and that’s probably rude of him.

It doesn’t seem to bother his teammate, who slightly confusingly leans against the wall and pulls Sam back against him, arms over his shoulders. He’d twist round to ask Jev what the heck he’s doing but he’s got his nose in Sam’s hair so he’s slightly disabled, goes for a reassuring (he hopes) thigh rub instead that seems to make Jean-Eric tug him closer.

Ok, fine, if Jean-Eric’s having one of his extra sad moments then Sam can be down for that, it’s nice to be out in the sun even on the shitty strip of concrete patio just outside the factory and he’s a fairly touchy-feely guy, it’s not like they don’t cuddle sometimes. 

Jean-Eric moves one of his arms and it makes Sam shift and he’s suddenly  _ really  _ aware he’s basically leaning his arse on Jev’s crotch, the reclining posture making their height difference less so. Which is probably a bit over-friendly for a teammate, really - and also he instantly wants to squirm which would just be grinding and oh god.

He strokes Jev’s leg again and tips his head back onto his teammate’s shoulder, eyes closed, to distract himself and Jev makes a sort of half-pleased, half-soothing noise. This is definitely weird, even by Sam’s standards but it feels nice and he doesn’t want Jean-Eric to let go of him - although he is a little concerned someone may come looking for them in a moment - so he just leans against his teammate as much as he can without any completely dubious arse/crotch friction.

Jev rubs his nose against Sam’s neck, nuzzling and  _ surely  _ it’s just panic that’s making his heart beat slightly faster and the awareness of where each one of Jev’s fingers is splayed across his body is just because it’s warm and Jean-Eric smells nice because they probably wear the same aftershave, not because of the slight hint of sea air or something beneath that,  _ fuuuuck.  _

Jean-Eric smiles against the skin just behind Sam’s ear, breath hot against him and Sam tries very hard not to excitedly whimper because he thinks Jev might kiss him and this is all terribly pathetic and how’s he going to concentrate in the sim now? He shifts, panicking a bit because he’s come over all schoolgirlish and he’s not sure what he wants.

Jev nuzzles him again, pulls him even closer and Sam  _ definitely  _ whimpers this time but he can’t help himself, pressed flush against his teammates body and feeling lit up by the way he’s sort of basking on Jev. It all feels profoundly unnatural and very comfortable, the way Jean-Eric’s stubble is grazing his skin and he’s holding Sam like he was meant to.

He gives in to the urge to wriggle a bit because he’s not a naturally restful person and slightly uses it has an excuse to turn round so he can look at Jean-Eric, whose expression is strangely unreadable. Maybe he wasn’t going to kiss Sam, then? He’s just being nice in that weird sort of Jev way? So Sam’s heartrate should probably calm down before he has to question his own fitness.

“We should, err, go back inside?”

Jev makes a huffy noise, like he was about to say something and Sam’s somehow stolen his thunder. Oh, maybe they were having a moment? And then Sam came over all teenage about it because everyone keeps suggesting they should kiss and so he wasn’t paying attention to Jev being sad or whatever it is. 

He realises he has one hand on Jean-Eric’s chest, which is maybe a bit weird and moves it without a strategy of where to put it next, so ends up just sort of gesturing towards the door, panicking mildly. 

“Are you ok?” He’d normally protest about Jev asking  _ him  _ that but actually he’s increasingly convinced he might not be, staring up at his teammate and realising he’s meant to respond to that slightly too long after he reasonably could have. 

“Uhm.” He stops waving his hand about, mentally collects himself because looking Jev in the eye is  _ very  _ distractingly intense but he is used to going round corners at 200mph, he does have some mental stamina.  “Do you think everyone thinks we’re dating?”

Something Sam can’t work out crosses Jev’s face like a shadow and it’s suddenly not as warm or gentle between them, as though the sun’s suddenly dived behind a cloud he knows isn’t in the sky. Jean-Eric doesn’t look at him when he replies, looking at Sam’s fingers against Jev’s own arm, instead, where he’d managed to find somewhere not  _ too  _ weird to put them. 

“I don’t know, I don’t listen to them.” Oh fuck, what’s he fucking on about? Poor Jev’s probably thinking about something serious and he’s being a thirteen-year-old. 

Sam pushes his head against Jev’s shoulder, puts his arms around his teammate’s waist and just stays there. Fuck’s sake, just because everyone else is stupid doesn’t mean he has to start freaking out every time Jean-Eric rubs his thumb over the nubs of bone at the top of Sam’s spine and he probably needs to mention the tingling feeling that shoots across his body to his physio, not feel it in his fingertips for the rest of the day.

\-----

Other people definitely do make out with each other, obviously. That’s fully reasonable. Sam makes out with his girlfriend all the time, for instance - he’s not unfamiliar with the concept nor does he actually need any further making out opportunities in his life.

Which makes it all the weirder that he’s given into the urge, having woken up sweaty in a hotel bed at completely the wrong time for whatever this timezone is and has his hand down his own pants, fingers tight round his dick. He’s so  _ not  _ doing this, he keeps trying to reform the idea of Jev in his head into Bruno but it’s no good, they’re nothing like each other.

And what Sam’s thinking of is the moment where that inexplicable, intense expression crossed Jean-Eric’s face, the way their hips were pressed together, the way for a second he had some mad thoughts about romance. Beyond that, much beyond that though, wanting to fuck that numbness out of his teammate, make Jev show emotions he never does, fall apart under Sam.

He cranes his head back into the pillow, imagining licking up Jean-Eric’s neck, biting at the skin Sam knows is sensitive just under his ear, fucking him slowly, teasing until Jev demands more, grabs at Sam and tells him to  _ fuck  _ him. Jev’s not fragile, Sam could be rough with him - he probably likes it, the kinky French bastard.

Oh god, now he’s thinking about actually tying Jev up and this is entirely too elaborate for a 4am wank about the idea of getting his dick in his teammate. Pinning Jean-Eric face down on the bed, his hands tied and fucking him with Sam’s nose against his neck, Jev’s sweaty hair in his face, holding his waist while Jev arches against him -  _ fuck.  _

He bets he’s fucking tight and aggressive and hot - Jev doesn’t sleep around, Sam’s pretty sure none of the others have screwed him, the picky idiot. Oh god, now he’s thinking about Jev fucking Bruno and this is absolutely not ok on any level but they’d be so lanky and stupid and hot together, Bruno could crush him into the bed, ride Jev’s dick while they’re kissing, holding his wrists down and then maybe they’d both wank Sam off after and ugh, he’s coming all over his hand at the thought of both their hands on his dick.

He realises he has his other hand over his face, like he’s trying to hide the shame somehow but there’s not really a practical way to escape yourself, let alone your own thoughts. Urgh, god, fine - he fancies Jev, they’ve all talked him into it. He wants to crawl all over the gigantic French idiot and pull his stupid hair and maybe come in his mouth a few times. 

Christ, what a thought. It’s not his fault everyone conspired against him until he can’t help thinking about the fact Jev has really nice lips and pretty eyes and he’d be kind of nice to lie next to. Sam reckons he’s probably dead affectionate, he wouldn’t be at all opposed to having Jev curl round him and be all naff and romantic and probably stroke Sam’s hair or some shit like that.

Urgh, he’s the  _ worst.  _ God. Right, well, maybe it would cheer the bastard up anyway. If he has to spend the entire of tomorrow trying to not replay luridly disgusting wank fantasies every time he glances across the garage then he might as well at least  _ try  _ flirting. 

Rolling over to his phone, after a quick hand-wipe on the duvet,, he’s already got a message from Jean-Eric, tries to ignore the sense of relief that washes over him because Jev obviously doesn’t  _ know  _ Sam just wanked over him. He hopes, anyway - he doesn’t think he’s all that loud and the walls seem reasonably soundproof because apparently Jev is also suffering from longhaul sleep disruption, having texted “ _ fucking jetlag”  _ 3 minutes ago.

Sam guiltily fires back “ _ same _ ” and tries to avoid touching the bit of duvet he wiped his hand on as he settles back into the pillows. He’s feeling fairly comfortably sleepy again in the way a nice wank will do but when Jev replies almost instantly, he’s also happy to chat to his teammate about how the hell the aircon is supposed to work and what’s on the hotel TV channels.

He wakes up with his phone in his hand, pressed against his shoulder where he’d dozed off and curled around it, having just opened “ _ this bed is so comfortable I wish I fucking go to sleep in it.” _

At breakfast, Jean-Eric smiles at him over his porridge and Sam feels more guiltily confused than he ever has in his life before when his teammate passes him the cafetiere and their fingers touch for a second, not quite quick enough to move away

\-----

Jev falls asleep with his head against Sam’s thigh, while they’re sitting at the back of the garage waiting for the trackwalk. He can’t help threading his fingers through Jean-Eric’s hair, petting him a bit. Jev looks pleased, in his sleep, snuffles against Sam’s leg so he carries on, thinking fond things about the fact he’s never going as bald as the Frenchman. 

Sebastien smiles at him, walking past and unmistakably taking in the way Jean-Eric is sprawled out with one hand on Sam’s knee. It’s the way Sam’s very, very occasionally slept on his girlfriend when the jet lag is too unbearable and he recognises something a little childlike, needy about the way Jean-Eric is using him as a pillow, wanting something to root himself to. He tries to make the hand in Jev’s hair a little more subtle - he probably doesn’t need any Francophone teasing later.

He looks away from meeting Seb’s eyes, doesn’t want to spoil the moment. He likes looking after Jev, he’s sort of realised - the idea of anyone else doing it makes something cold and jealous curl in his chest

Sam’s a bit surprised that it’s himself who ends up on the receiving end of Buemi, sidling up to him while he’s waiting for a media thing. “‘E’s so much ‘appier, it is good.”

Sam grunts at him because he's not really in the mood for this, actually. He might have reconciled himself to the idea he fancies Jean-Eric on some weird level but that doesn’t mean he’s letting everyone else’s lunacy win. Seb seems to sense Sam is not entirely thrilled by this conversation - he feels slightly guilty, this kind of tends to be the way most of Seb’s social interactions go but it’s hardly Sam’s fault Buemi’s decided to open with something that’s causing him a mild emotional crisis. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not my business.” Damn straight. But also Sam isn’t mean enough to shut out the conversation entirely. 

“It’s not really a thing - Jev’s just going through some shit and people keep  _ assuming  _ it is.” He pauses but there’s a terrible thing when you start talking about something like this where you just  _ cannot stop  _ even when you know you absolutely should, “I don’t think it is for him, anyway - and that’s ok, I think I’m just going a bit mad because everyone keeps suggesting he’s in love with me or something.”

Seb laughs at him and it’s not a noise he’s used to hearing and it nearly makes him jump, “Oh god.”

He’s easily into regretful waspishness now, not having expected ridicule, really. Which was maybe an error, “Laugh it up, you’ve got your own emo French problems.”

Seb sobers slightly but still looks more amused than usual, “Not like this.”

What _ ever _ .

\-----

Jev brings him a glass of wine and what he thinks is intended as companionable silence. Sam is not having a brilliant day, if he’s perfectly honest and would quite like to be left alone but in lieu of that because he has a reasonably responsible attitude about needing to humor sponsors to get paid, Jean-Eric is sort of an ok alternative.

An unexpected bonus to everyone thinking they’re fucking is that if he gazes meaningfully at Jev every now and then they can get left alone, even at the after party. He’s not sure Jean-Eric’s actually noticed, since he seems to be looking away or at his hands or whatever every time but Jev hardly speaks to the others anyway so this is completely fine. 

Also unexpected is that Jev has put a distractingly flattering shirt on which is starting to make Sam entertain guilt-confusing ideas about  _ definitely  _ booty-calling Bruno later if he hasn’t disappeared with Nico again. Because late-night thoughts aside he is still very certain he can’t actually start fucking Jean-Eric even if it has a sort of bad-but-makes-you-feel-good-appeal right now.

So does wine, though, which seems safer. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the fact it’s possible one may lead to the other but that’s for Slightly Later Sam to worry about. Current Sam needs to concentrate on the fact Jev’s put his hand on his knee.

He hopes he doesn’t look too worried. Because he’s not worried, Jean-Eric is just touching Sam’s leg, that’s a thing that happens sometimes probably in completely normal situations. Just because one of the people involved in this scenario may have had a wank over the idea of the other one joining him in the shower for some lovely wet frotting earlier this evening doesn’t mean it’s weird. 

Sam is deliberately looking out across the room instead of at his teammate because he can  _ feel  _ Jev’s eyes burning a hole in him and he’s in extremely severe danger of doing a lot of stupid stuff right now, not least falling off the slightly unstable barstool. Jev is being nice to him but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t punch him if he had telepathic insight into Sam’s more recent wank fantasies.

“I don’t - Sam, I’m really sorry.” What? He stares at Jean-Eric for a minute and realises he’s missed something.

“What? Why?” Oh god, Jev looks  _ really  _ upset, what if this is something awful?

“I just think - I don’t know, I need a different team, I don’t know why.” What? What is Jev fucking  _ on  _ about? “But you have been a good teammate, you know, I want to stay friends.”

Friends? Is Jean-Eric pre-emptively breaking up with hi-  _ oh.  _ Sam’s actually known for about a fortnight that Jean-Eric didn’t renew his contract with the team and has been trying not to read too much into it - he’d thought they have a good dynamic but then he’s also thought about how much he wants to plough Jev into a mattress so no need to make assumptions about reality.

“Yeah, yeah of course mate.” Sam feels slightly - well, very - deer-in-headlights, staring at Jean-Eric as his teammate’s hand makes some tentative progress up his thigh, in a way he’s fairly sure is intended to be reassuring but is slightly tingle-inducing panic-arousing.

Jev smiles at him like he’s massively relieved to have finally got that off his chest and Sam can’t resist the urge to pat him reassuringly on the hand. He will miss him, it’s been a weird year - he’d kind of assumed Jev would basically be Jaime mk II but Alguersuari was never as complex and sad and strangely affectionate, in a distant way.

“You’re staying in Formula E, right?” He’s not sure why it matters, Jev can do what he wants. 

“Yes, of course.” Jev moves his hand off Sam’s thigh, tangles their fingers together on the table and Sam stops breathing. Doesn’t start again until Jev rubs his thumb across Sam’s knuckles, tender. 

He’s fairly sure Jean-Eric must have put him to bed, later because there is a glass of water on the bedside table and some paracetamol he can’t quite focus his eyes enough to understand the French on next to it. And someone has plugged his phone in, which is nice - god, he really will miss the giant mopey dickhead.

Sitting up to drink the water, he realises it was  _ definitely  _ Jean-Eric who put him to bed last night, because he has his arm around Sam’s waist.

\-----

Jev doesn’t kiss like Bruno - Sam couldn’t work it out at first, the difference but he thinks it’s that Jean-Eric snogs you like he really, really fucking means it. And he’s terribly romantic about it, the stupid great bastard - Sam’s literally never been bought roses by anyone before and he’s embarrassed by how much their appearance in his side of the garage made him blush.

And it turns out all his fantasies were dead wrong because he is right now crushed against a wall, his thighs around Jean-Eric’s waist and they’re just making out, his hands on Jev’s shoulders, feeling the pulse in his neck flutter against Sam’s fingertips. Jev’s stubble is surprisingly soft and every touch of their lips is gentler than Sam had imagined it would be - something sweet about the way Jev kisses him, playful and honest.

He whines a little because this is getting him really pretty worked up, butterflies in his stomach in a way that’s not specifically helpful for the testing session about to start again any second. He doesn’t like the black and gold suit on Jean-Eric, even if it does flatter him - he’d rather tear it off and set about reacquainting themselves with each other, after the short break. 

But needs must and if they’re going to top the times then, well, tactics.

“What the fuck?” God, Lucas’ accent is hilarious when he’s outraged. Jean-Eric smiles against Sam’s mouth, kisses him harder. They weren’t the  _ only  _ ones who didn’t know, then.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
